


Turn and Burn

by omelet



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Spies, M/M, Non-Graphic Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-12
Updated: 2017-09-12
Packaged: 2018-12-26 10:57:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12057552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/omelet/pseuds/omelet
Summary: Sidney didn't think he would end up a burned spy. He didn't think the past would ever catch up to him either.





	Turn and Burn

**Author's Note:**

> A sort of self-indulgent AU based on the TV show Burn Notice. 
> 
> Big thanks to Julia and Veronica for beta-ing :) I actually made a lot of changes after the beta read so all mistakes are my own.

_We got a burn notice on you. You’re blacklisted._

The call went dead, the flat dial tone of his burner phone ringing in his ear, the blood in his body slowly running cold. Behind him were some very dangerous people who were expecting money to be wired into their account, money they were no longer going to get.

In the span of ten seconds, Sidney Crosby has been abandoned by his agency, suddenly cut off from his resources, left with no backup.

He was used to working alone, but now he really was alone.

 

-

 

It’s bright. Not bright the way Nigeria was bright and not dry, either. Sidney slowly opens his eyes, blinking awake. Lifting his face out of the stiff pillow it had been half-buried in, he turns his head slightly, furrowing his brow at the sight of ugly wallpapered walls and the yellowing ceiling of what could only be a motel room.

These are good signs. He had been beaten until he was nearly unconscious before he convinced the people that he could get them their money through a different method. He managed to escape after asking to go to the restroom, knocking out the two guards sent to escort him before climbing out the window to the street to steal a ride to the airport. The last thing he remembers before passing out from sheer exhaustion is boarding the next plane to Abuja; the fact that he’s on a bed and not in a dingy cell or a hole in the ground must mean he made it out successfully.

He makes a concerted effort to get out of the bed, but the pain of his injuries catches up to him all at once. He collapses back down with a soft groan.

So he’s alive. And he’s been burned.

He knew the life of a spy wouldn’t be easy, but this was something he never thought to have a contingency for. It makes no sense; being burned means he’s been found to be unreliable and he’s always followed orders, always completed his mission, no matter what.

Before he can think about the whys, his thoughts are interrupted by a sharp jab to his ass. He shoves his hand under the pillow, instinctively reaching for a gun that isn’t there, before he twists around on the bed, wincing as a sharp pain shoots through his ribs, before his breath catches in his throat.

Evgeni Malkin is leaned back in a chair by the bed, his foot still pressed against Sidney’s ass. “Take forever to wake up, Sid,” he says with an amused lilt.

Sidney can feel his head starting to spin, his thoughts starting to spiral, but he forces himself to focus on the immediate task at hand. He slowly sits up, taking inventory of his injuries. Most of them have been cleaned and wrapped up, a cold compress bandaged against his ribs; the gash on his arm he got from one of the guards during the restroom scuffle is even stitched up, albeit messily. “Zhenya,” Sidney breathes, the nickname slipping out before he can stop himself. Zhenya cants his head, but doesn’t say anything. “What are you doing here?”

The corner of Zhenya’s lip turns up. “Someone look in your wallet, find my number.”

Sidney meets Zhenya’s gaze for just a moment before he breaks it, turning away to look around the room. He tries to lean and get a glimpse out the window. “Where am I?”

Zhenya leans forward in his chair. “Miami.”

“Miami?” Sidney repeats with disbelief. “Why Miami?”

Zhenya shrugs. “I pick you up at hospital. They say you get sick on plane, need emergency landing. Suppose go to Canada.”

“I was in the hospital?”

Zhenya nods. “But I bring you here. I’m not trust people there.” Sidney can feel Zhenya’s eyes on him as he moves to stand. “Crack two ribs, Sid. What happened?”

Sidney sighs as he picks up his shirt and slowly pulls it on. “I was burned,” he answers. “I was in the middle of an op and they cut me loose, right there.”

Zhenya whistles low. “That’s big deal. You know, back in Russia, just kill spies, so you kinda lucky.” He just smiles toothily when Sidney shoots him a look. “So what’s plan now?”

Sidney thinks for a moment. “I need to get back to Canada.” He walks over to the window and peers out between the blinds. There’s a car across the street with two painfully conspicuous guys in suits sitting inside. “Those guys are FBI?”

There’s an indecipherable look on Zhenya’s face but then he nods. “Just two. Been here a while. Anyway, you don’t have papers, Sid,” he points out. “Even if you get past FBI, how you cross border?”

Sidney sighs again. A good question. “Can you distract them?” Zhenya raises an eyebrow. “You’re good at making a scene. Punch one of them, set their car on fire. Whatever it is, just do it soon.”

Zhenya looks at him consideringly before he gets to his feet, jabbing a finger at him. “You will owe me dinner.”

Sidney blinks. “Alright,” he answers, feeling a little lost when Zhenya gives him a satisfied nod and leaves to, presumably, cause a small riot.

 

-

 

No one answers his calls.

He’s lost access to all of his bank accounts and, like Zhenya said, he doesn’t have any of his passports, making leaving the country next to impossible. With the FBI tailing him, he doesn’t think he can even leave the city either, even if he had the money to get anywhere further than his two legs can get him.

Out of options, he gets his hands on the Yellow Pages and skims the advertisements for a coded phone number to a security firm he knows a contact runs.

Getting a shoe in the door of the security firm takes a little more effort; a borrowed courier service uniform does the trick. Thankfully, when Colby sees him walk into his office, it’s an expression of resigned exasperation rather than outright hostility.

“Sid, I shouldn’t even be talking to you,” Colby says, after dismissing his assistant and then locking the door behind him.

“Whatever they’re saying I did, I didn’t do it,” Sidney tells him as Colby rounds his desk and sits down with a sigh. “What are they saying, by the way?”

“Just that you’re not to be in the loop anymore,” Colby answers. “You know how these things go. They don’t tell us why, they don’t give us specifics. It’s need-to-know and all we need to know is that you’re burned.”

Sidney thought as much. He sits heavily in the chair across from Colby. “Army, I’ve got nothing right now.”

Colby looks at him with poorly concealed pity. “My hands are tied. I’m no use to you anyway. I’ve been out of the game for a while now.”

“I know,” Sidney sighs. He understands, but he can still hate it. “Well, I mostly wanted to see if you had any jobs available. Just something to tide me over until I sort this out.”

Colby sighs and nods. He takes out his wallet and hands Sidney a few hundreds. “Get yourself a place to stay. I’ll let you know when I find something.”

 

-

 

“It will be noisy,” Oleg, the landlord, tells Sidney as he leads him to the loft. The loft is essentially a glorified warehouse above a nightclub with a drug dealer neighbor, which is why the rent is cheap enough for Sidney to afford.

“I don’t mind,” Sidney says. He’s learned how to tune out noise by now.

Oleg nods as they stop at the front door. “So, you’re Sidney Crosby, huh? That name haunted the old regime back in Russia before the rebels became their nightmare. They used to say it was the name for a unit, not just one man.”

Sidney smiles a little sheepishly. “It was just me.” 

Oleg hands him the key and shakes his hand.

After Oleg leaves, Sidney surveys the loft. It’s a little dusty and it looks like it was used mostly for storage, but it’s roomy and it’s got a mattress and a couch. After an afternoon of checking the surrounding area and unsuccessfully contacting his handler, he gets a call from Colby.

“You got something for me?”

“Oh, I’ll do you one better. I’ve got a job and something that can help you out with your situation.” Colby lets out a short laugh over the line. “When was the last time you saw Pascal Dupuis?”

 

-

 

“Ah, spies,” Duper says after Sidney meets him at a bar and fills him in on the situation. “They’re just a bunch of babies.”

Sidney stares while Duper laughs to himself. Last time Sidney saw him, Duper was on his way to a nice cushy retirement. Duper was a highly-decorated operative, but he’s always been a family man, going on and on about his wife and his kids and ignoring everyone’s warnings of “you know the guys who talk about their families are the first to go, right?”. He got the last laugh; he was honorably discharged and now he’s living it up in Florida, relaxing on the beach, going to Disney World every other weekend.

But apparently, the life is too boring for him, so he still takes small jobs from Colby to pass the time and earn a little income, still keeping an ear to the ground. The best part, for Sidney at least, is that being retired means Duper doesn’t have to worry as much about who he talks to, burned spy or otherwise.

“So what are you going to do next now that you’re out of the game?” Duper asks after he explains the job - they’re supposed to look into a robbery that happened at some rich real estate guy’s house, hired by the gardener, the police’s number one suspect - and gives Sidney a copy of the file.

“I’m not out of the game yet,” Sidney answers as he flips through the file, not even looking up. “I haven’t been able to get a start on the burn notice, but I’m thinking of reaching out to some other contacts, looking around -”

“I don’t mean that,” Duper interrupts with a wave of his hand. “I mean, you know, in your life.” He stares at Sidney when Sidney doesn’t answer. “You know, with your free time? Now that you’re not trying to destabilize countries and all? You aren’t just trying to figure out this burn notice every second of your life, are you?”

Sidney shifts uneasily in his chair. “I sleep. And eat.”

Duper looks at him, pained. “Sid.”

Sidney will admit that he’s never been good at “having a life”, something Duper has told him many times over the years. It’s a ridiculous notion. He’s a spy. He doesn’t have time for one. “The burn notice is a big deal, Duper.”

“I thought you’d, I don’t know, take this as an opportunity. You’ve been so many people for so long. You’ll have to actually live your own life at some point, Sid. Why not now?”

Sidney tries to think of something, anything to appease him or to just get away from this conversation. “I’m uh, having dinner with someone?”

Duper brightens. “Oh yeah? Who?”

 

-

 

It’s a nice restaurant, according to the reviews. It’s dimly lit, illuminated mostly by bright fish tanks. Despite the darkness, Sidney still spots the three FBI agents watching him from various corners of the restaurant, but that’s not what’s making him nervous.

Sidney fidgets in his seat. “You still like sushi, right?”

Zhenya glances up from the menu and smiles at him. “Yes.”

They give their waitress their orders and then silence settles between them. Zhenya seems content to sip his sake and look around the restaurant idly. Sidney keeps his hands flat on his thighs and looks at Zhenya.

It’s been a long time since Sidney’s seen him. Five years, seven months, to be exact. His haircut is different, shorter, his hair no longer brushing the nape of his neck, but not much else has changed.

“Thanks for coming,” Sidney finally decides to say.

Zhenya doesn’t look at him. “Free dinner.”

“I mean,” Sidney scratches the back of his neck. “For answering the call. Coming here, patching me up.” He gestures at his arm when Zhenya meets his gaze. “You were always bad at sewing up stitches.”

“Hmph,” Zhenya says and it makes Sidney smile. 

“Are you staying here for a while?”

Zhenya shrugs a shoulder. “Miami is nice,” he says conversationally. “Come here few times before. Nice weather. Beach. Lots of parties. Chance to practice English too.”

Sidney laughs a little. “Yeah.” He runs a finger down one of his chopsticks. “I didn’t know they let you have leave.”

“We not rebels anymore,” Zhenya answers. “Like real army now.” He looks down. “Anyway, I’m not in army anymore. Not for me.”

Sidney’s known for a while that he left the rebels, but Zhenya doesn’t need to know that. “Suddenly didn’t like taking orders anymore?”

Zhenya lets out a short laugh. “Winning the war gave Sasha big head, don’t want to listen to him.” He pauses. “They ask about you sometimes.”

Their eyes meet. Sidney never knew what Zhenya told the unit when he left.

The moment passes as Zhenya breaks eye contact. “So you want to be spy again?”

“I’m not _not_ a spy,” Sidney clarifies. “This is just - a mistake, a misunderstanding. Things will be back to normal once it’s sorted out.”

That indecipherable look is back on Zhenya’s face again.

“Your appetizers,” the waitress declares cheerily as she descends on their table, seemingly appearing out of nowhere. Wherever that conversation was going to go, Sidney will never know as Zhenya immediately starts munching on the edamame and urging Sidney to eat.

“So you have job?” Zhenya asks later with a mouth full of salmon nigiri.

“Yeah, with Duper,” Sidney answers. “It shouldn’t be too hard. I just have to talk to some people, do a bit of recon, but it’ll still be tough to do with the FBI on me all the time, even when I eat.”

Sidney swears he sees Zhenya’s ears perk up. Zhenya chews his food slowly as his eyes dart around, swallowing before surreptitiously dropping his napkin into his lap. When the napkin returns to the table, Sidney hears a quiet, alarmingly familiar clatter. “Should we shoot them?”

For someone with such big hands, Zhenya has an unhealthy fondness for small, easily concealable guns. Sidney has wondered for years how he even manages to shoot the way he does with them. Thankfully, all it takes is a stern look to get Zhenya to back down. Zhenya grumbles and takes his hand off of the napkin, but the gun stays under it for the rest of the dinner.

All things considered, it’s a pleasant dinner.

Zhenya walks with Sidney back to his new place. “You live here? Next to my favorite club?” Zhenya exclaims, laughing when they arrive after squeezing past the patrons in line to open up the rusty corrugated steel door leading to the loft. “Next time I come, I just crash at your place.”

Sidney smiles crookedly as he closes the door behind him. It muffles the noise outside a little. “All I’ve got is a mattress and a really questionable couch.”

Zhenya’s eyes twinkle. “We deal with worse. Remember one time we have camp outside -”

Sidney laughs as the memory comes to him. “Oh god yeah, in the middle of the worst winter I’ve ever been in.”

“Even Russians get cold,” Zhenya says wistfully. “Sasha afraid we get sick, tell us sleep in group, like penguin. You not let anyone in your tent because too many routine.”

Sidney scowls to cover his embarrassed flush. “Well, no one let you into their tent because you kept moving around.”

Zhenya grins. “Only you let me in.”

“I wasn’t going to let you freeze to death,” he mumbles. Zhenya slept like a flailing octopus, but Sidney quickly figured out that he just needed something - or someone - to latch on to. Once he was settled in, he made for a warm blanket.

“You talk in sleep. I keep think you asking me about hockey scores.”

“You can’t prove anything,” Sidney huffs, but smiles when Zhenya laughs, a warm feeling bubbling in his chest. He forgot how much he liked Zhenya’s laugh.

They stand at the foot of the stairs leading up to the loft. Zhenya looks at him, his eyes warm and soft for the first time since he’s seen him again.

“Я скучала по тебе,” Zhenya says, quietly into the hot, humid night air.

Sidney feels his heart stutter in his chest, his breath caught in his throat. “Yeah,” he says softly, turning away as he clears his throat. “I uh, if you want, I can stay on the couch if you need -”

“Is okay,” Zhenya says. He sounds disappointed. “I call cab.”

Sidney watches Zhenya leave, stands there alone in the dark, and sighs.

 

-

 

The thing about being a spy is that more often than not, you can’t let anyone know you’re smarter than they think you are. Being competent makes people feel threatened. Pretending to be incompetent makes them think you can be controlled.

Sometimes, being a spy is about waiting for the right opportunity and that means having to take hits and Sidney has always been good at taking hits. It’s as the saying does: sometimes you have to lose the battle to win the war. When targets underestimate you, when they think they’ve won before it’s over, that gives you an advantage.

It seems counterintuitive not to fight back, but it’s one of the best skills a spy can have.

So yes, in theory, Sidney could take out his drug dealer neighbor if he wanted to, but no amount of training can get you to shake off a baseball bat to two cracked ribs without needing at least a few seconds to recover. On the bright side, the drug dealer is predictable in every other way; he’s probably going to want to gloat for a bit before he even thinks to pull his gun, so Sidney will probably just have to lie on the ground and take a few more kicks to the stomach before he can get that opening.

At least, that was what he was waiting for until he heard what sounded like a roar before the drug dealer is hauled entirely off of him and thrown into the wall. Sidney moves his hands away from his face to see Zhenya, very clearly pissed, advancing on the drug dealer.

“W-Who the fuck are you?” The drug dealer tries to demand, but it comes out more like a terrified squeak.

“Guy who kill you slow if you don’t leave now,” Zhenya growls. “If I see you again, I kill you too.”

Despite having a gun, the drug dealer appears to not want to try his luck, stammering out some unintelligible words and scrambling to his feet. Sidney sees his white sneakers scampering away seconds later.

The moment he’s out of sight, Zhenya drops down beside Sidney, his hand gentle on his shoulder, his expression turned now to worry. Sidney groans as Zhenya turns him over. “Oh, Sid,” he says softly, clicking his tongue in disapproval.

“I had him on the ropes,” Sidney tries to joke as Zhenya helps him sit up, but judging by the look on Zhenya’s face, he neither gets it nor believe it.

“I’m not remember you this bad at fighting.”

Sidney lets out a short laugh. “I had a plan, but you sort of jumped ahead in it.”

“You plan this?”

“People underestimate you when you’re - nevermind,” Sidney sighs when the flat look returns to Zhenya’s face. “I had it under control.”

Zhenya looks extremely skeptical. “Don’t look like. This how you do spy stuff? Get beat up?”

“Yeah, kinda.”

Zhenya frowns. “Seems stupid.”

Sidney laughs before coughing in pain. He can’t say he disagrees. “It’s usually worth it for the result. Though sometimes…,” he trails off, suddenly lost in thought.

Zhenya looks at him questioningly. “Sometimes what?”

Sidney shakes his head. He won’t lie to himself; he’s done things that make it hard for him to look in the mirror some days, things he knows he’ll be judged for one day. “Sometimes, we kind of deserve it,” he answers with a short, almost pained laugh. “For what we end up doing next.” 

Zhenya looks at him sadly. “C’mon, Sid,” he says, pulling Sidney’s arm over his shoulders and walking him up the stairs to his loft to patch him up again.

His touch is careful, but it still hurts anyway.

 

-

 

The first time he met Zhenya, he was Sidney Koshkin.

It was one of the better assignments. His mission was to infiltrate the Russian rebel faction as a Russian raised in America who returned to sign up for the cause. The objective was to extract any intel they had on the corrupt controlling faction, anything that could give NATO grounds to intervene on the civil war. 

He ended up assigned to a unit based out of Magnitogorsk. Upon arrival at the base, instead of meeting the captain, Sergei Gonchar, he was directed to his second-in-command. That was when he met Evgeni Malkin.

“You’re Koshkin, yeah?” Malkin greeted, shaking Sidney’s hand. “Captain told me about you. We don’t get a lot of recruits so I’m glad you’re here to help.”

“I hope I can be of use, sir,” Sidney returned with an earnest nod, hoping that all the hours of practice he had put into brushing up on his Russian didn’t go to waste.

Malkin paused a moment before he burst into laughter, much to Sidney’s shock. He shook his head and waved for Sidney to follow as he started to walk. “Sorry, sorry, the guys around here have been calling me ‘sir’ as a joke since the captain’s been gone. You don’t have to be so formal.”

After a moment of staring after Malkin, Sidney stumbled a little as he jogged to catch up to Malkin’s long strides. “R-Right,” he replied as he fell into step beside him. “Uh, what happened to the captain?”

“Captain Gonchar was injured on a mission and taken off the field,” Malkin explained. “If you ask me,” he glanced around before leaning in, “the old man probably just threw out his back and wanted a vacation.”

Sidney couldn’t help but laugh a little while Malkin grinned at him.

Malkin gave him a quick tour of the base before they stopped at the shooting range. “So your name is Sidney. Not a very Russian name,” Malkin pointed out. Sidney nearly broke out into a cold sweat right there, but then Malkin asked, “You have a nickname?”

Sidney blinked owlishly at him. “Some people call me Sid,” he offered.

“Sid,” Malkin tested before nodding. He pointed at himself. “Some people call me Zhenya.”

Sidney blinked again at Malkin, who looked back at him expectantly. “O-Oh,” Sidney stammered when Malkin raised his eyebrows at him, “Zhenya.”

Malkin - Zhenya smiled, apparently satisfied. “Okay, Sid,” he said, drawing a gun and putting it down on the table in front of him. “Let’s see what you can do.”

When they weren’t on any missions, they trained and sparred, like all the other soldiers did, but Sidney ended up spending a lot of time with Zhenya. Zhenya helped him get set up in an apartment down the hall from his so they usually had their meals together; sometimes Sidney would help Zhenya with his English and Zhenya would invite Sidney over whenever he managed to get a spotty NHL stream working on his computer.

Zhenya was everything Sidney wasn’t, personality-wise, but Sidney kind of liked that. He was easygoing, emotional, a little reckless, but he had a good head on his shoulders and always accomplished what he set out to do. He was a good leader, despite it being a role thrown on him, but he was still a rebel and that often meant getting into situations without thinking about the consequences. At times, it was difficult for Sidney to stay quiet.

“That’s a horrible idea.”

It was a few months into Sidney’s assignment. Sidney had walked by and overheard Zhenya talking to Sergeant Bobrovsky about an operation they were planning. He didn’t mean to barge in. 

Zhenya looked up from the map he was going over. Beside him, Bobrovsky shot Sidney a wide-eyed _did you really just say that_ look before looking at Zhenya; Zhenya shook his head as if to call him off before turning back to Sidney, looking a little amused but a little tense too. “What’s a horrible idea?”

He was just meant to be a foot soldier, to follow orders, to stay close enough to find any useful intel. It wasn’t his intention to become involved, but that was the thing about these sorts of assignments; it was almost impossible to stay detached, to not care about the people who were fighting alongside you, to not speak up if they were going into danger. “You want to hit the northern post because the unit stationed there ambushed us a month ago,” he answered bluntly.

Zhenya’s eyes hardened. “So?”

Sidney knew that if it were anyone else, they wouldn’t hear him out, but he knew Zhenya. “You know the post to the east is closer and easier to hit,” Sidney said, his gaze unwavering. “I know you don’t want to lose any more people than we have already.”

Zhenya frowned and crossed his arms over his chest, looking back down at the map. Bobrovsky looked uneasily between the two of them. Zhenya had a reputation of being scary when he wanted to be, so it was rare for anyone to speak up against him, especially to say something like this. “You’re right,” he eventually said with a sigh, rubbing his neck.

Sidney opened his mouth, expecting to have to make his case, but stopped short, opting for a nod at the last moment.

“Except we don’t have the resources to hit the eastern post,” Zhenya pointed out. He motioned for Sidney to come over and stand with them by the table. “Let’s see if there’s somewhere else we can agree on.”

Sidney wasn’t close with the guys in the unit. He was an outsider in more ways than one; he wasn’t a native Russian, fought and thought differently than them, but Zhenya didn’t seem to care about those things. Sidney became his second-in-command in everything but title, and he found himself becoming Zhenya’s counterbalance. He bailed the unit out when they got into trouble, wasn’t afraid to pull Zhenya back when he thought he was about to do something risky. At first, he thought that Zhenya was just humoring him, but he really did listen to his input. Despite their differences, he and Zhenya got along and worked well together. 

They were good together.

 

-

 

The robbery turns out to not be as straightforward as he thought.

Duper managed to get a bug in the owner’s car and through that, they found out that he had robbed his own place, framing his gardener and intending to collect the insurance money. While they would tip off the police, it runs the risk of him destroying all of the proof before the police can get to it. They have to get it themselves.

Sidney manages to come up with a plan to get into the house and search the mark’s home office, but it requires a few moving parts. He’s already introduced himself to the mark as the person investigating the robbery and while there’s a chance the mark won’t recognize Duper from the staged argument that got the bug into the car in the first place, they can’t risk it. Duper managed to get a few of their old friends, Flower and Tanger, just coming off a mission to come down and give them a hand on the job, but they’re going to be handling the infiltration and extraction. They need one more person to serve as a distraction.

Running out of options and time, Sidney asks Zhenya to come to the loft.

“ _Him?_ ” Duper exclaims incredulously when Zhenya shows up at his front door.

“Pascal,” Zhenya greets amicably as he walks past him.

“Fuck you, Geno,” Duper returns. Zhenya hardly bats an eye. “Seriously, Sid?”

Sidney shrugs helplessly, unsure of where all of this animosity had come from. He knows Zhenya and Duper have had a couple run-ins in the past, but nothing serious. At least, that’s what he thought.

“Don’t know why you mad,” Zhenya says to Duper. “I should be mad. You cost me lot of money, you know.”

“You almost killed me!”

Zhenya turns to Sidney quickly just as Sidney wordlessly looks to him for an explanation. “Not for real! It was just, you know,” Zhenya waves his hand vaguely around in the air, as if hoping to conjure up the word, “блеф. Like joke.”

Duper stares at him, gobsmacked. “A joke?!”

“A bluff,” Sidney corrects before sighing. “What were you guys involved in anyway?”

“Just sell some stuff,” Zhenya replies with a shrug just as Duper says, “He was in the middle of an arms deal!”

Sidney stares.

“I’m need money,” Zhenya says defensively. “Miami not cheap.”

In their line of work, no one can ever really have the moral high ground. Sidney is in no position to lecture Zhenya about his life choices or striking deals with shady people so he doesn’t. “Tell Duper you’re sorry.”

“Sorry I’m joke -”

“Bluff,” Sidney murmurs quietly.

“- bluff about shoot you.”

After Duper rolls his eyes and sulks off to mutter about how much he hates them, Sidney explains the situation to Zhenya.

“So,” Sidney says after he’s done. “Do you think you can give us a hand?”

Zhenya looks a little overwhelmed. “I thought you said is easy job.”

“Yeah, well, I didn’t expect it to be a frame-up.”

Zhenya taps his chin. “You getting pay for this?”

“The gardener offered all the money he could spare but I wasn’t planning on taking it. He has a son and he’s being taken advantage it. Doesn’t feel right to take it.”

“Thought you need money.”

Sidney shrugs. “I can get some another way.”

Zhenya looks at him, thoughtful, before he quirks a grin. Sidney looks at him quizzically. “Can probably hire someone if you just need distraction.”

“No, I need you.” Zhenya raises an eyebrow at him and Sidney suddenly feels awkward. “Adding in strangers is risky and I uh - you know -,” Sidney looks away, scratching his cheek, , “I tr - know you can do it and um -”

Zhenya just smiles until he finally puts Sidney out of his misery. “Okay, I help. So I have cover, yes?”

Clearing his throat, Sidney collects himself and nods. “You’ll be approaching him as an investor. The guy is so desperate for money that he robbed his own house, so he’ll definitely be interested in talking to you. Duper will go over what you should say.” Sidney gives him a onceover. “You’re going to need a new suit.”

Zhenya looks down at his clothes, which are so oddly mismatched that one would think he raided some bargain bin for them, but Sidney know it’s just how he likes to dress. Zhenya gives him a sly look. “Know you like.”

Sidney scrunches his nose at him. Zhenya has weird taste in clothes, even for a Russian, but he somehow makes grandpa cardigans and clashing prints work. Sidney would never admit it though. “Go talk to Duper.”

“Yeah, get over here,” Duper calls from the other side of the room. “You can check each other out later when I’m not here.”

Zhenya just chuckles as he goes over to Duper on the other side of the room while Sidney stammers uselessly.

While Duper gives Zhenya a run-down on his cover, the kinds of questions the mark might ask, Sidney only listens half-heartedly as he decides to take the time to clean his gun. It’s a calming routine. It’s been a long time since he’s been able to sit down and give it a proper cleaning beyond a short fieldstrip between missions. In the time it takes to lay down the cloth and put down each part in its proper spot on it, Sidney is able to simply occupy his mind, thinking only about the motions and nothing else.

“Sidney Crosby was like ghost story. Everyone think is codename, not just one guy cause so much trouble.”

Sidney pauses from cleaning the firing pin before he throws a glance toward their end of the room just as Duper throws his head back and laughs. “Our Sid? Really?”

Sidney has no idea how they managed to become friends in the last ten minutes or how this line of conversation even started, but it’s horrible. He elects to just ignore them and keeps cleaning each part of his gun in order, placing each one back down in its usual spot on the cloth once he’s done.

Zhenya grins wide. “I’m can’t believe we never think he’s Sidney Crosby. Back then, he save us a lot. We get in trouble, start think ‘oh man, hope Sid drop from sky, save us soon’. Then he does. Is amazing.”

“Yeah, he’s good at that,” Duper agrees, a tinge of pride in his voice. “He’s bossy as hell, but he’s always got your back.”

Zhenya is quiet for a moment. “Yeah,” he says. “Good comrade.”

Sidney puts down the last piece of his gun.

Then he starts to put it back together.

 

-

 

Zhenya didn’t know Sidney was a spy at first. It had come to a head one night when Zhenya caught Sidney breaking into the office where they kept their encrypted intel, intel Sidney was copying and leaving in dead drops for CSIS to find.

Sidney remembers every time he’s had a gun pointed to his head and this time was no different. He would never forget the way Zhenya looked at him, the way his voice was completely steady even though his hands shook, his finger twitching against the trigger guard of his gun.

“Tell me why I shouldn’t kill you.”

Sidney was lucky that it was Zhenya who caught him. Like all of the rebels, Zhenya was rough and angry, but he was loyal, almost to a fault. Beneath the layer of bitterness was a softness he hid away that no one knew about.

Almost no one.

“I’m here to help you. No one trusts anyone right now,” Sidney had answered, his hands out, his eyes never leaving Zhenya’s. “But you know you can trust me.”

Sidney exploited it.

And Zhenya slowly lowered his gun.

Zhenya became an asset, whether he knew it or not. Sidney explained his mission and Zhenya agreed to give Sidney intel when he could, when he thought it would help. It probably wasn’t as much as what Sidney could have gotten if he maintained access, but it was enough and Sidney knew better than to test the boundaries of Zhenya’s fragile trust.

But Zhenya kept his secret. Despite the stand-off they had, the reveal that he was a spy, he didn’t treat Sidney any differently. Even after he let Sidney go that night, he still kept him in meetings, still asked him for his thoughts about their plans and strategies, still invited him over to his apartment like a friend.

“You don’t have to be nice to me,” Sidney told him once in Zhenya’s apartment.

Zhenya looked away from the television to shoot him a look. “I’m not nice to you,” he snorts.

That was technically true. Zhenya loved to tease him every chance he got. “You know what I mean. You don’t have to do,” Sidney gestures vaguely around, at the beer in his hand, the remnants of their dinner on the table, “this.”

Zhenya cocked his head at him. “Why?”

They had become friends, good friends, and while Sidney may not have been a traitor, he lied to Zhenya. People rarely react well to deceit, yet Zhenya acted like it almost never happened. It was a ridiculous notion but Sidney didn’t want this friendship if it wasn’t genuine. He didn’t want this if Zhenya felt like he had to be kind to him, to appease him for some reason, like maybe he thought Sidney would do something if he didn’t. “We have an arrangement. You don’t need to go beyond it,” he paused, “if you don’t want to.”

Zhenya was quiet for a few moments. “Someone will think it’s weird if we weren’t friends all of a sudden.”

That was a fair point. Sidney didn’t know why he felt faintly disappointed.

“You know,” he continues, “they would kill you if they knew you were a spy. Probably kill me too if they knew I was helping you.” Then he quirked a grin, “Even if you’re not really an American.”

Sidney couldn’t help but ask, even though he thought he knew the answer. “So why risk your life for someone like me?”

Zhenya looked at him and Sidney couldn’t help but feel uncomfortable, like Zhenya could see right through him. “You care about us. You look out for us, the unit, me,” he answered. “Just because you’re a spy doesn’t mean I won’t do the same. Maybe the intent isn’t the same, maybe it is. All that matters to me is what you ultimately do.”

Sidney had to protect Zhenya because he was an asset, because it was his job. Zhenya didn’t have to do the same for him. Zhenya teased him, but he didn’t let anyone else make fun of him, stuck up for him when the other guys harped on his routines, his bad “Americanized” Russian accent. He worried whenever Sidney got hurt, whenever he got too quiet and lost in his head. He made him laugh. He would go and do something amazing but incredibly stupid and Sidney would lecture him, but Zhenya would just smile that roguish smile of his and in the end, Sidney would end up smiling too.

Sidney knew he wasn’t, but he wanted to believe he was the kind of person who deserved all of that.

“You’re a good person,” Sidney told him after a long silence.

Zhenya smiled sort of bashfully before making a face at him. “You’re a good liar.”

It stung a little, even though he meant it as a joke, even though it was true. “I wouldn’t lie to you,” Sidney said softly. “Not about that.”

 

-

 

“You think this is a good idea?” Duper asks as they watch Zhenya engage the mark. “Working with Geno again?”

“I need him for tactical support,” Sidney replies automatically.

“Ah, ‘tactical support’,” Duper echoes, nodding sagely. “Is that what they’re calling it these days?”

Sidney ignores him and keeps his gaze on Zhenya. He told Zhenya to stall as long as possible and to give a signal if he felt he was losing the mark ahead of time. Tanger and Flower are breaking into the house, searching the home office for anything they can use.

It’s strange to see Zhenya as an operative as opposed to a soldier. Sidney knows he was Spetsnaz and went through the training before, but the war broke out before he was ever sent out on any formal missions. It’s clear that he had the potential; Zhenya’s wearing a suit and his smile and posture exudes easy confidence. He looks good.

“You’re gonna catch flies like that,” Duper points out casually and Sidney snaps his mouth closed, embarrassed.

Around 15 minutes later, Flower and Tanger show up behind them.

“We found a safe,” Flower tells Sidney as he hands him a thick folder with a bright smile. 

“Print was right on the scanner, so we just opened it up, made copies of all the docs, put it back. Easy money.”

Sidney looks over the documents, copies of property deeds, insurance policies, sales. This is what they needed. “Nice work, Flower.”

Flower grins before he peers over Sidney’s shoulder toward the mark, squinting into the distance. “Oh hey, is that him? Geno?”

Sidney narrows his eyes at him. “How do you know Geno?”

“Duper told us all about your boyfriend,” Tanger chimes in. Sidney tries to protest with an indignant _he’s not my boyfriend_ but Tanger completely ignores him. “Plus, we’ve run into him a couple times in the past.” Flower nods beside him. “He’d be a half-decent arms dealer if he wasn’t so picky about who he sells to. So we’re working with him?”

“He’s the tactical support,” Duper answers for Sidney, the tone of his voice completely neutral despite the shit-eating grin on his face.

“‘Tactical support’, huh?” Tanger says meaningfully, complete with waggling eyebrows and air quotes and all.

“What’s he supporting, Sid?” Flower asks innocently. Tanger gives him a high-low five. 

Sidney ignores them too. 

Zhenya is still talking to the mark. A few minutes pass before they part ways; another few minutes later, Zhenya appears behind them. “We get it?” Zhenya asks, his tie already tugged loose.

“We got everything,” Flower tells him and Zhenya laughs with relief, patting Flower on the back and a few times on the head. 

“Want do good job. I’m never do this before.”

“You did great,” Sidney assures him. Zhenya smiles at him, pleased.

“Yeah, Eugene, great job,” Tanger calls. Zhenya glares at him. “Excellent tactical support.”

Zhenya raises his eyebrows. Sidney wants to die. “‘Tactical support’,” Zhenya says before shooting an amused look at Sidney.

Sidney’s grateful for their help, glad they’re sticking with him through this burn notice, but having these people all in one place together is almost worse than being burned.

 

-

 

Helping people becomes a sort of side job. Duper has been reaching out to his contacts to find out more about Sidney’s burn notice, but in the meantime, he keeps bringing him these cases, people who need help beyond what the law can provide, help that’s a little more proactive, hard-hitting. Sidney doesn’t particularly want to encourage it, but he’s always been good with that kind of help and he can’t find it in him to turn them away. Besides, when leads on the burn notice keep ending up as dead ends or sometimes, dead people, it helps to remember how it feels to actually be able to do something, to help someone, when you feel helpless in every other way.

In between jobs and the burn notice, Sidney keeps tabs on Zhenya.

Sidney knows Zhenya became an arms dealer after he left the rebel army, going by the name of “Geno”, a nickname coined by his first clients, a bunch of Americans who couldn’t pronounce his Russian name. Across the street from a storage warehouse, Sidney sits in his car and watches the entrance. Zhenya has some of his inventory in a unit here. Sidney has a couple people feeding him information of any sales near areas where Zhenya keeps merchandise. When he doesn’t have anything else to do, he drives over, sweeps the area if he’s early enough, and watches.

Sidney rests his cheek on his hand as he resumes squinting through his sunglasses, alternating between watching the entrance and scanning the perimeter. He knows Zhenya mostly works with the Bratva; it’s always small transactions, nothing too serious that would seem like a threat to other dealers, and they seem friendly enough with him, but Sidney knows that all it takes is a misunderstanding for something to go wrong.

“Hey, Sid.”

Sidney nearly crashes his face into the car door as his arm jerks and slides out from under his face. He whips his head to look toward the passenger window to see Zhenya leaning his arms against the door, grinning broadly. 

“Should be better at this,” Zhenya chirps. “What you doing here?”

Sidney clears his throat as he adjusts his sunglasses and regains his bearings, his face glowing. “I was just in the neighborhood,” he answers, turning away.

“You live 20 miles in other direction,” Zhenya retorts easily, shooting him a look over his aviators. “Try again.”

“I’m here for uh, a job.”

Zhenya still looks unconvinced, but he lets it go. “Well, I have meeting over there in a few minutes if you want watch,” he says, tilting his head at him and grinning. 

Sidney throws him a sideways glance before getting annoyed. “What?”

“When I’m see you a little while ago, I’m just think you look so cool. Who you want impress? My customers? They not appreciate,” Zhenya teases.

Sidney flushes and fumbles, “I-I’m not trying to look cool.”

Zhenya laughs. “I’m know. I like when you not cool best anyway.” Then his expression softens. “Can say you worry, you know.

Sidney taps his fingers against the steering wheel. He’s restless, he knows he is. The jobs, following leads, those keep him occupied but when he doesn’t have those, all he has is his thoughts. 

“You just never know what can happen,” Sidney says. 

“Is okay. You save me,” Zhenya says with a fond laugh before he turns to leave. “You always do.”

 

-

 

“Are you mad?”

“I’m not mad.”

Zhenya glanced up from the rifle he was cleaning and quickly looked back down. “You’re mad.”

“I’m not mad!”

They were sitting across from each other in the armory, cleaning the rifles. Everyone was supposed to maintain their own rifles but after coming back from the mission that almost went awry, Zhenya dismissed the others, leaving him and Sidney to clean them on their own. “I understand why you would be,” Zhenya said.

Sidney stayed silent, reassembling one rifle and then moving on to the next.

“You really do that the same way every time.” Sidney looked up and Zhenya pointed at the parts laid out on the cloth in front of him. “You clean every gun the same way.”

Sidney stopped his movements, a little surprised. People never noticed things like that about him. In their defense, he never really stuck around long enough to give anyone a chance to. “It calms me down,” Sidney admitted quietly, absently rubbing away the gunpowder around the rim of the rifle barrel.

Zhenya smiled at him a little. “I know it was a bad idea, running out like that.”

“Yeah.”

“If I didn’t, we would’ve lost Plotnikov.”

Sidney sighed. “I know.” Plotnikov had pushed up too far and was shot in the leg. Without even shouting for covering fire, Zhenya ran out of cover to pull him to safety. Things like this happened enough for Sidney to almost be used to it, but this time was different. “I know I can’t stop you from doing things like that, no matter how hard I try. I just -”

The thing about assets is that the prospect of losing them is supposed to be merely an inconvenience. Reckless assets get on your nerves, exasperate you, because it means their usefulness is limited. 

You’re not supposed to be scared of losing an asset.

“I don’t want to lose you.”

Sidney didn’t look up to meet Zhenya’s gaze. Zhenya didn’t say another word.

 

-

 

At first, Sidney thought the burn notice was a misunderstanding, but it’s becoming more apparent that it was intended as a part of someone’s plan, a plan that they don’t want him to find out about. It’s dangerous, more dangerous than he ever thought it would be, and privately, he worries. Duper, Flower, Tanger, they’ve all got families. 

Zhenya.

He knows they’re all capable of protecting themselves, but the people who burned him are powerful and Sidney has no idea how far their influence goes, has no idea what to expect. Regardless, they help him any way they can to clear his burn notice, Zhenya too, even though he doesn’t get why he wants his job back.

“Always get hurt,” Zhenya says as they watch a building from his car. Duper is inside, planting bugs in the mark’s office. “Why you want to be spy again?”

Sidney keeps his gaze ahead. “It’s what I’m good at.”

“Good cook too. Can become cook.”

Silence.

Zhenya is undeterred. "Like hockey, right? Can become hockey player. Everyone right now bad anyway.”

“ _Zhenya_.”

Zhenya turns to look out the window moodily. “I’m just say.”

Sidney feels his lips turn up in a grin but he shakes it off with a sigh. “I get what you’re saying, but this is what I have to do.” Zhenya looks at him, opens his mouth to say something, but Sidney catches something out of the corner of his eye. “Zhenya, look.”

It’s the mark and her bodyguard. She’s heading back to the office way earlier than they expected. Duper is still inside.

Swearing softly, Sidney calls him. “Duper, you’ve got to get out of there now.”

Duper sighs noisily through his earbud. “Buy me a few more minutes,” he grunts.

Sidney turns back to Zhenya. “We have to distract them.” He’s already trying to think of plans - he could ram the car into something but that would only buy a few seconds, he could intercept the target but then he wouldn’t be able to approach her in the future if they needed to - but Zhenya interrupts his train of thought with a tap on his arm.

“Go along with,” Zhenya tells him before he puts down the window and gets out of the car. When he turns back to the car, his expression is twisted in anger as he shouts, “You _always_ do this! We are over!”

Sidney, a little shocked by the sheer volume alone, throws a quick glance toward the mark; she and her bodyguard, as well as everyone else in the general vicinity, have stopped and turned toward them. He scrambles to get out of the car too, rounds the front to catch up to Zhenya, who’s making a big show of storming off. “C’mon, babe,” he whines in a simpering voice, “it was a mistake -”

“Always say the same thing,” Zhenya scoffs, rolling his eyes and throwing his arms up theatrically as he moves past Sidney. At least some good has come out of Zhenya’s newfound love of soap operas. “Always say ‘I’m change this time, I promise’ -”

Sidney jogs to cut him off again, takes another look over Zhenya’s shoulder. The mark is interested in the unfolding drama and her bodyguard is lingering behind with her, also interested. It’s working. “It’ll be different this time,” he pleads. He puts his hands on Zhenya’s forearms, running them up and down in a calming manner. “You know me.”

Zhenya shakes Sidney arms off and cross his arms over his chest, glaring at him. “Don’t you touch me,” he huffs prissily before turning up his nose.

Sidney has to keep himself from laughing. He manages to keep up the ruse, playing the part of the sap trying to placate his angry dramatic boyfriend, but he’s running out of things to say and the mark isn’t going to stay interested for long.

Zhenya has his eyebrows raised, his foot tapping on the ground expectantly, but he looks nervous. In Sidney’s ear, Duper tells him he needs just another minute. Sidney tilts his head, shrugs a shoulder helplessly. Zhenya chews on his lip, looks away, and shakes his head.

“Lie again,” Zhenya mumbles. “You always lie.”

Sidney feels cold for a moment before he remembers that they’re still in the cover. “Babe, what are you talking -”

Sidney expects another exaggerated reaction, maybe even a shove or a punch to sell it. He doesn’t expect the too-real pain in Zhenya’s eyes when he looks back at him, the haunted, betrayed look on his face. “You leave me behind,” Zhenya hisses. “You _left_.”

This isn’t real. He knows this, but the words cut into him like knives. Sidney finds his mind going blank and he only snaps out of it when Zhenya furtively taps him on the arm. “I-I know, I’m sorry,” he stammers, his heart pounding. He tries to swallow down the lump forming in his throat. “It’s not - it wasn’t what you thought. I didn’t want to -”

To his merit, Zhenya doesn’t miss a beat; he lets out a harsh laugh, shaking his head again as he makes another pass to leave. “You think you can just go - just come back whenever you want and I take you back, forgive you.”

In his earbud, he hears Duper murmur _it’s done, I’m out_. The distraction is no longer needed. All Sidney has to do is let Zhenya walk away.

Except he doesn’t.

Sidney catches Zhenya by the wrist. Zhenya looks at his hand, then at him, surprised. “I don’t care if you never forgive me,” Sidney whispers, his throat tight. “I just want you to be happy.”

He sees Zhenya waver, the stiff line of his lip soften.

He hears Zhenya murmur _meet back at the loft_ , but he doesn’t see Zhenya’s face when Zhenya pulls his wrist out of his grip and walks away.

 

-

 

Good sparring partners are hard to come by. Duper flat-out refuses and Flower, while always eager, doesn’t really have enough hand-to-hand experience to make it fair. Tanger is a decent one because he fights dirty and it’s useful to learn how to fight against that, but if you’re having an off day, there’s only so many times you can take getting kicked in the balls and laughed at.

Zhenya was his regular sparring partner back when he was in Russia and he still is now. He’s always been a challenging opponent with his long reach and deceptive quickness and that makes it good practice.

But sparring isn’t the best thing to be doing when there are things on your mind.

Sidney falls flat on his ass with a heavy _oof_ , his elbows smacking against the wooden floors hard when he tries to brace himself. His cheek throbs painfully. “Shit, G, that was some punch,” he says with a grimace, running his tongue along his teeth. He can taste a little blood.

Zhenya is already on his knees in front of him, his brow furrowed. “Sorry,” he whispers, his hands immediately moving to cradle Sidney’s face. “I’m not mean hit so hard - I’m think you block -”

“It’s okay, I shouldn’t have been distracted - ” Sidney insists, but Zhenya still fusses, going over to the fridge to pull out an ice pack and returning to hold it against Sidney’s cheek. “Thanks.”

Sidney moves to take the ice pack, his hand closing over Zhenya’s, but Zhenya doesn’t pull away.

“Sorry.”

“I told you it’s fine -”

“I mean, for fake argument.”

Zhenya is looking at his cheek and doesn’t meet his gaze.

It’s been about a week since then.

Sidney’s been meaning to talk to him about it, to ask if he meant what he said. But more than that, he wants to tell him that he was right.

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” Sidney tries to assure him, splitting the difference.

Zhenya doesn’t say anything, just looks at the floor, and Sidney hates it. He hates that he made Zhenya feel this way, hates that despite everything he’s done to Zhenya, Zhenya still _lets_ him make him feel this way.

He almost wishes they fought for real.

“I meant what I said,” Sidney says. “I want you to be happy.”

He can feel water dripping down his face, the ice pack melting against his numbed cheek, against Zhenya’s palm. Zhenya finally meets his gaze, offering up a small smile, but it’s sad. “I know,” he says before he moves to stand, pulling away. “I’m shower first. Keep ice.”

Sidney stays there on the floor, listening to Zhenya’s footsteps until the bathroom door shuts, and closes his eyes.

They don’t really talk about the past. Every once in a while, they talk about old habits, old stories, but they don’t dwell. Out in the field, you can’t think about the past; the past keeps you anchored and being anchored gets you killed. The truth is he _was_ good at being a spy, but he had become jaded, embittered by the things he was ordered to do. He was a spy, needs to be a spy again because it gave him an excuse to run, to always be running, because that’s what he needed.

If he wasn’t running, he was thinking of the past. He was thinking of Zhenya.

He may not be a spy right now, but he’s still running.

 

-

 

There’s a man by the name of Strickler who calls himself “an agent of spies”. He told Sidney he could help him with his burn notice. He has Sidney do a few jobs for him, some data grabs, some intelligence gathering, and judging by the jobs, it looks like he makes money off of them. Duper wasn’t able to find a single thing about him, which doesn’t help things, but when Strickler manages to get a CSIS contact to actually talk to him without stonewalling him, Sidney thinks that maybe he really can get this burn notice cleared up.

Zhenya doesn’t like it. Duper doesn’t like it either, but Zhenya _really_ doesn’t like it.

“He’s a bad guy,” Zhenya says, leaning against his kitchen counter with his arms crossed over his chest. “I’m think is bad idea for you to work with him.”

Sidney sighs. “He’s all I’ve got.”

Zhenya’s frown deepens. Duper looks like he wants to run away. “Well,” Duper says, clearing his throat. “I gotta go do uh - I gotta go.”

Duper does indeed run away, leaving the two of them alone in the loft. 

“You have us,” Zhenya finally says.

He’s right. They’ve been working together for a while now and they’re almost like a real team. Sidney knows he would probably be dead without Duper, without Flower and Tanger stopping in Miami every chance they get in between missions, without Zhenya staying, but things are going too far now. Even Duper, who Sidney tries to keep away from anything other than surveillance, has been on the receiving end of a few beatdowns. Duper always brushes it off, but Sidney can’t help but think about his family, about the lies he must tell them to keep helping him.

The longer this burn notice lingers, the more danger they will all be in. He has to make this burn notice go away, no matter what it takes.

Sidney looks away. “I’ll handle it.”

He hears Zhenya let out an angry sigh as he walks past him. “Right.”

The door slams shut, leaving Sidney alone in the loft.

 

-

 

It seems strange to say that things have only started to become strained between him and Zhenya lately. Despite all the history they share, they have an understanding about the past, that they will deal with it in time and that all that matters is the present.

But the present hasn’t been looking good these days either though.

Sidney is sitting up on the second floor when he hears the door open. Peering over the railing, he sees that it’s Zhenya. “Hey,” he calls when Zhenya looks around, presumably looking for him. “Did you get a new car? It didn’t sound like yours.”

Zhenya glances up at him briefly before he steps in, closing the door behind him “Rental. I sell my car.”

“You sold it?” Sidney can’t imagine why Zhenya would sell his beloved sports car, especially when he fought so hard to get it. He was there when Zhenya bought it; they had bickered about the car - Zhenya likes fast, flashy cars and Sidney was arguing that its flashiness detracted from its tactical value - for a good fifteen minutes in front of the salesman before the salesman gave them a discount just to get them to stop. “Why?”

“I’m ah,” Zhenya fiddles with something on the workbench. “Going home.”

Sidney’s heart drops. “We have one disagreement and you decide to go back to Russia?”

He’ll admit he sounded a little pathetic, but surely not so much to warrant Zhenya laughing at him. “No, no, it’s not - not about that,” Zhenya tells him. Sidney isn’t the least bit convinced. “Just think, maybe is good for me to go home for a while.”

Sidney didn’t think things had become so unbearable to the point that Zhenya had to leave. And yet. “If that’s what you want,” he says faintly.

“Yeah.” Zhenya looks away. “I ah, think I leave one of my guns here. Did you see it?”

Sidney looks at the gun sitting on the table in front of him. He puts his hand on it, runs his thumb down the slide. Zhenya had this custom-made. “I didn’t see it, but it’s probably around. I’ll bring it to you when I find it? You’re not leaving today, right?”

Zhenya shakes his head, smiles a little. “Not yet. Thanks.”

Sidney watches Zhenya leave, his heart dropping. A voice in his head tells him to be grateful that at least he told him he was leaving, but it doesn’t really help at all.

 

-

 

“Geno’s going back to Russia.”

Duper lowers his binoculars and looks at him. “Oh.” He scratches his cheek. “Are you...okay with that?”

Sidney looks into the distance. They’re doing surveillance for a job from Strickler and nothing’s really happening. Not that he could really focus anyway. “I have to be, don’t I?”

“I mean, is that what you want?”

“Of course not,” Sidney answers immediately.

“Does he know that?”

Sidney looks away. “I can’t make him stay.”

Duper sighs beside him. “He can make his own decisions,” he says, raising his binoculars. “If you don’t want to influence his decision, make sure he doesn’t see that heartbroken look on your face.”

 

-

 

Being a spy means adapting, but there are some things that you just can’t shake off. There are some things that are comforting, constant, like the weight of a gun in your hand, like the faces of the people you trust. He’s gotten used to having Zhenya with him. It was almost like it was before, in Russia, when Zhenya was always with him, when Sidney had no other orders but to stay at his side. It was an illusion of routine, comfort.

He should’ve known better.

Walking up to Zhenya’s apartment with Zhenya’s gun tucked in the back of his jeans, Sidney’s so lost in his head about Zhenya leaving - Should he ask him to stay? Should he ask if he’s coming back? - he almost doesn’t notice Zhenya pointing a gun at him when he opens the front door. “Zhenya, what the -”

Zhenya looks anxious as he lowers his gun. “Sid,” he says, carefully holding his gaze. “You remember Sasha?”

He’s speaking Russian. Sidney follows Zhenya’s gaze over to the kitchen.

Alexander Ovechkin, their former commander, is standing behind Zhenya’s kitchen counter with a gun.

“Koshkin?” Ovechkin exclaims, his eyes wide with disbelief as he lowers and holsters his gun. He then smiles wide and walks over to give Sidney a robust hug. “We were wondering where the hell you went! It’s a good thing you’re here because we’re going to need another person who can shoot.”

Sidney shoots a look at Zhenya over Ovechkin’s shoulder. Zhenya just shrugs helplessly.

“What are you doing here?” Sidney asks when he finally lets him go. 

The smile on Ovechkin’s face drops as a more serious expression takes over. “It’s bad. There are people coming to kill Zhenya.”

Sidney exchanges a look with Zhenya, who just shrugs again. “Who?”

“Some of the people from the old regime are still around,” Ovechkin explains with a sigh. “Word must have got around that he was heading home. They must think it’s a chance to take him out.”

Sidney can feel a headache coming on. “Alright, so what’s your plan?”

Ovechkin stares blankly at him. Zhenya stares at Ovechkin, then at Sidney. “I say we kill them,” Zhenya suggests.

Sidney feels his headache grow tenfold. Things haven’t changed with these two. “Let’s get out of here first. They’ll probably -,” he catches a glimpse out the window of a truck blocking the street, “nevermind, they’re here.”

While Zhenya’s would-be assassins work on setting up their ambush, the three of them leave out the back door and hop a few fences before making it out to the street.

“Wait here, I’ll go find a car,” Ovechkin says before running off through the hedges.

Once he’s out of sight, Sidney faces Zhenya. “He doesn’t know?”

Zhenya gives him a look. “I told you they would kill me if they found out you were a spy,” he hisses, crossing his arms over his chest. “Well, Sasha might not kill me, but I never thought to see if that were true.”

Sidney sighs as he calls Duper.

 

-

 

Ovechkin was one of the leaders of the rebellion. He and Zhenya go way back, all the way back to basic training. When the unrest started, Ovechkin was one of the first to disobey orders, deserting and rallying those who wanted to fight back, which included Zhenya.

Sidney mostly heard and spoke to him through comms, and only met him a handful of times during his three years there. Even before Zhenya knew he was a spy, Zhenya always seemed to make sure to be between him and Ovechkin.

“Zhenya’s just worried I’ll steal you away,” Ovechkin told him, one night he came to Magnitogorsk to check on the unit. They were all out drinking, a rare day-off granted by the commander himself. 

“So you can put him in your shitty unit!” Zhenya yelled, popping out of nowhere to punch him in the shoulder.

Ovechkin laughed raucously as he nodded vigorously, even while Zhenya got him in a headlock. “Right, to put you in my shitty unit!” He confirmed, still laughing as he motioned for Zhenya’s glass and pouring him some more vodka.

Sidney was two sheets to the wind, so he just laughed with them.

Sidney had learned from experience that leaders tended to only care for power and fortune, sometimes the cause too, if they’re half-decent. They were usually narcissists who wanted people to be unquestionably loyal to them. There were questions he anticipated that Ovechkin would ask him and he had answers prepared for all of them.

After someone whisked Zhenya away to drink with them, Ovechkin turned to Sidney. “He’s one of the best, you know.”

Sidney laughed, thinking of all the times Zhenya bragged about being the best. “I know.”

“He tells me you’re even better.”

He felt his face burn hot and it wasn’t the alcohol. “I do what I can.”

Ovechkin leaned in, his eyes suddenly sharp. “Are you committed to Zhenya, Koshkin? To look out for him?” 

There was something about these Russians and their unexpected questions. Still a little drunk and caught off guard, Sidney could only answer honestly. “Yes,” he said.

Ovechkin stared at him for a long moment before he smiled, all of his seriousness gone, patting him on the back before clinking his glass against his. “Good.”

 

-

 

Duper gives them the address of a foreclosed house to hide in until they figure out what to do. Sidney leaves it to Zhenya to chew Ovechkin out for probably leading the hit squad to his house in the first place and goes to sweep the perimeter of the house, taking note of all possible entry and exit points. All things considered, being chased by someone who wants to kill you isn’t out of ordinary in their line of work. Motive is usually pretty easy to parse, but the method is what you have to look out for.

“So you found him in the end, huh?”

“More like he found me.”

Sidney stops. He’s a few rooms away from the foyer, but the sound in this house carries.

Ovechkin laughs a little. “I’m happy for you. You always knew him best, even though he kept to himself most of the time. You were -,” he trails off for a moment. “You were never the same after he left.” A pause. “Why aren’t you coming back with him?”

There’s a soft sigh, a tap against the marble tile floor. Sidney braces himself against the doorframe and breathes, his heart stuttering in his chest. “He hasn’t changed,” Zhenya replies, resigned.

Ovechkin chuffs. “Does that matter to you?”

The silence that follows is nearly suffocating. Sidney taps the door behind him, making sure they knew he’s coming, before starting down the hallway. Zhenya jumps a little when he sees him, but Sidney pretends not to notice, turning to Ovechkin.

“I saw your car down the street,” Sidney tells him. “You need to be more careful with where you park it.”

Ovechkin gives him a strange look. “I didn’t park it anywhere near here.”

Before Sidney can say anything else, there’s a crash through the window by the front door; Ovechkin shouts just as Sidney sees what looks like a canister clatter across the floor. The canister lets out a deafening pop, smoke pluming out of it in seconds, and then the gunfire starts. 

It happens so fast. There’s voices yelling in Russian - _grab the target, we need him alive_. Through the billowing smoke, Sidney sees Ovechkin take two shots to the chest. Zhenya pulls a gun, but he’s knocked down by two guys before he can pull the trigger. Sidney reaches for his own gun, but in the chaos, he doesn’t hear the guy coming up behind him, hitting him hard in the back of his head with the butt of a rifle.

He hits the ground hard. When he opens his eyes, his vision unfocused, he sees Zhenya on the ground too, getting his hands ziptied behind his back. Zhenya’s shouting his name. It sounds muted in his ears.

A boot nudges him over onto his back. A masked man looks down at him.

“The legendary Sidney Crosby,” the masked man says. “Your friend told us to keep you alive. As thanks for leading us to Malkin.” He cants his head. “Didn’t say we couldn’t rough you up a little though.”

Sidney cries out in pain when he gets kicked right in the ribs. It takes the wind right out of his lungs. He hears Zhenya swearing at the masked man as the man turns away, ignoring him to bark orders to the other men. Sidney struggles to get up, to fight, to get help, do anything, but between the smoke and the pain, he knows it’s only a matter of time before he passes out.

As he slowly loses consciousness, through the ringing in his ears and the pounding footsteps and the muffled shouts, Sidney can still hear Zhenya screaming his name.

 

-

 

He doesn’t know how long he’s been out. The first thing he sees is Duper, Tanger, and Flower kneeling next to Ovechkin, their clothes stained with blood. Tanger and Flower are talking back and forth in panicked French, Tanger mostly swearing as he tries to pull the bullets out of Ovechkin. Duper is the one who notices him wake up.

“Sid, glad you’re okay,” Duper says, sounding relieved but strained. “Sorry, but this guy was bleeding out and you were breathing steady -”

Sidney sits up. “Where’s Zhenya?”

Duper shakes his head. “They’re in the wind, Sid. I got here too late and this guy hasn’t been able to tell me anything, so unless you know anything -”

“They said they needed him alive. They’ll be keeping him somewhere.”

Duper furrows his brow. “Alright, that’s good, but do you have any ideas where?”

_Your friend told us to keep you alive._

His vision goes into sharp focus. Sidney gets to his feet, the adrenaline kicking in. “I know how I can find out.”

He drives to Strickler’s house.

At the very least, Strickler doesn’t play him for a fool. He doesn’t even bother denying his involvement in helping the people who want to kill Zhenya; instead, he spews a bunch of excuses, bullshit about getting something in return, about being partners on clearing Sidney’s burn notice, about how he’s thinking about _him_.

“You have to think about your future,” Strickler tells him. “And that guy, Malkin? He’s just a part of your past.”

Sidney forces himself to steady his breathing. He looks Strickler in the eyes. Zhenya’s gun is still tucked in the back of his jeans. “He is not my past.”

 

-

 

Through Strickler’s phone, he manages to figure out where Zhenya is - a dock where a boat is supposed to pick him and the people who took him up and smuggle them to Russia. It’s a mad scramble to get the dock, but by some miracle, they manage to get everyone coordinated and in place by the time Sidney is done with the boat.

They start shooting at Zhenya’s kidnappers when they see Zhenya being taken out of the boathouse by the dock. Thankfully, Zhenya seems to have an idea of what they’re doing and headbutts the guy trying to wrestle him toward the boat, taking the chance to run and jump into the water, allowing Tanger and Flower to start shooting closer to get them to retreat back to the boat, forcing them to leave before the Coast Guard catches up to them.

The moment the boat starts to peel away, Sidney runs into the water to get Zhenya. He quickly flips him over, letting out a breath of relief when Zhenya gasps for air. Sidney looks him over; Zhenya’s been shot in the arm, probably caught a stray bullet in the crossfire, but other than that, he looks fine.

Sidney manages to get him to the backseat of Duper’s car and gets to work wrapping up his gunshot wound. Sidney ties it off tightly with a torn piece of his shirt, murmuring apologies when Zhenya lets out a cry of pain.

“Sid,” Zhenya calls weakly, lifting his hand. Sidney catches his hand, holds it, squeezing gently. 

“I’m here,” Sidney says softly.

Zhenya passes out once they start driving, his head in Sidney’s lap. Sidney closes his eyes and leans his head back, breathing in time with the rise and fall of Zhenya’s chest, Zhenya’s hand still in his.

 

-

 

“So you’re a Canadian spy.”

Sidney watches Ovechkin warily from the other side of his kitchen counter. “Yeah.”

Ovechkin is quiet for a few moments, scratching at the bandages wrapped around his chest. “You know, the others used to wonder if you were really one of us,” he says. “I always thought you were.”

Guilt sinks sour in Sidney’s stomach.

“Now I know I was right,” Ovechkin says, grinning as he shrugs. “And at least you’re not really an American.”

Sidney lets out a soft, relieved laugh. “Thanks,” he says and he means it.

Ovechkin waves it away before his smiles drops a little. “Don’t thank me yet. The guy who tried to kidnap Zhenya might not be able to talk his way out with that dead agent’s body and a few of Zhenya’s illegal guns on that boat, but he will talk. You’re going to be outed as a spy. You may have fought with us, but it’ll be hard for a lot of people to accept. I’ll do what I can when I go back but you can’t go back to Russia, at least, not now.” Ovechkin looks over at Zhenya, lying in Sidney’s bed. “Neither can he.”

Sidney sighs heavily, leaning his arms against the counter. He may be relieved that Zhenya is staying, but he didn’t want it like this. Zhenya wants to go.

“You want my thoughts about this?”

Sidney glances at him. “Not really.”

“He probably wouldn’t have left, in the end,” Ovechkin tells him anyway. “After we overthrew the old government, we were heroes. He would have been set for life if he just stayed. But he just left all of a sudden. I always thought he left to go find you.”

“You don’t know that.”

“He was moving around everywhere until one day I heard that he was settling down in Miami. Then I find out you’re here too.” Ovechkin sighs. “You may be a spy legend, but you are incredibly clueless when it comes to everything else.”

After Ovechkin leaves, Sidney walks over to Zhenya, sitting on the edge of the bed to check his bandages. He touches Zhenya’s cheek and just looks at him, his heart aching.

Zhenya searched for him. Sidney knew he left Russia and started traveling around, making a name for himself, but all this time he spent running, he didn’t think Zhenya might be chasing after him.

He didn’t let himself entertain the possibility.

Zhenya stirs and Sidney quickly draws back. Blinking awake, Zhenya looks around, disoriented, before his eyes land on Sidney. He manages a weak smile. “Hey.”

“Hey,” Sidney returns. “How do you feel?”

Zhenya grimaces as he shifts and sits up on the bed, wincing when he puts weight on his injured arm. He looks at the bandaged wound and shrugs. “Not too bad,” he says mildly.

“That’s good,” Sidney says with a small smile. 

Zhenya manages a chuckle. “Think I can still go on plane like this?”

Sidney remembers what Ovechkin told him. “Zhenya, you can’t go back.”

Zhenya is quiet for a few moments, his eyes downcast. “I know,” he finally says, resigned, like he had a feeling. “Want leave for stupid reason anyway.”

Sidney stares at him. “You _were_ mad at me!”

Zhenya looks like he wants to laugh at him. “Little bit,” he admits, poking his tongue out. “Can’t blame me.”

Sidney huffs but concedes. “Yeah. Strickler - I shouldn’t have worked with him. I should’ve listen to you. I’m sorry.”

“Yes, should have,” Zhenya says teasingly, but then he shakes his head. “I’m sorry too, you know, for all,” he gestures at his wound, “this. Trouble with Russian guys, Sasha coming here, Strickler-”

Sidney stops him with a hand on his shoulder. “Don’t, Zhenya,” he says. “I wasn’t going to let them take you.”

“I know,” Zhenya says with a soft sigh, bowing his head, their foreheads almost touching. “Just - I’m know burn notice is important. Now Strickler gone, lose chance again.”

Sidney feels sick to his stomach. Zhenya was captured, spent hours held captive by people who were going to sell his death to the highest bidder, is now laid up with a gunshot wound and the beginnings of a black eye he didn’t have when he was taken, yet he still thinks about Sidney, about his burn notice.

Sidney catches Zhenya’s gaze, holds it. It shouldn’t be so hard to say it. It shouldn’t be hard to say _you’re important to me, you’re the most important person to me_ , shouldn’t be so hard to touch his cheek again, to lean in, to do what he’s wanted to do for so long -

“I’m just glad you’re okay,” he whispers instead, pulling back. 

\- but he can’t. Years ago, he made a choice. He couldn’t say it then. He can’t say it now. Not yet.

 

-

 

The first and last time Sidney kissed Zhenya was six years ago.

It was the dead of winter. Sidney was torching his computer, all the intel he had gathered, anything in the apartment that could be traced back to him, the agency, or the rebels. In a little under half an hour, he was left with just the clothes on his back, sitting in the empty apartment that had been his home for the last three years. His evac wouldn’t be at the exfil point until the early morning. All there was left to do was sleep or wait.

But then he thought about Zhenya, right down the hall.

His cover was about to be blown. He had to run. He knew the day would come when he would have to leave. He tried to tell himself, like he did many times before, that it would be better if he just left. It would make things easier for the both of them. It would keep Zhenya out of danger.

And yet.

After half an hour of restless pacing, he found himself standing in front of Zhenya’s apartment door. After another minute or two of just staring at it, he finally mustered up the courage to knock.

There was no response, no noise behind the door. Sidney knocked again, waited, before his stomach sank. It was late and Zhenya was just coming off a patrol. He was probably asleep and wouldn’t hear -

The door opened. “Sid,” Zhenya said in a sleep-hoarse voice, surprised. 

Nearly weak with relief, Sidney smiled shakily. “Can I come in?”

Zhenya nodded and stepped aside to let him in, yawning as he closed the door, crossing his arms over his bare chest. “Something going on?”

Sidney stood in the middle of the kitchen, silent. He didn’t really know why he was there. He had never been one for goodbyes.

“No, I just -,” he stopped, turning around to look at Zhenya, his tired eyes, and he felt his chest tighten. “Just wanted to see you.”

Zhenya smiled, soft and pleased. “Okay. You saw me. Now what?”

Sidney had never felt an ache as painful as this before. He wanted to tell Zhenya what was going on, that his cover was about to be blown, that if he stayed any longer, he would be dead and Zhenya would be in danger, but he knew he couldn’t. He knew it would be safer if Zhenya didn’t know what was going to happen next. This was a life he would soon be shedding and he was never going to see Zhenya again, never going to be close to him like this again, but he didn’t want to go like this, to lose this chance.

Sidney walked toward him until he was standing in front of him, close enough to touch. Zhenya looked at him, his eyes a little wide, curious, unsure. Lingering.

This was the weakness Sidney saw in him, the way Zhenya looked at him, but he never thought that in learning it, Zhenya would become his.

“Zhenya,” Sidney said softly, his hand coming up to touch his cheek. He did everything that was asked of him, completed his mission, but in this time he had left with Zhenya, he wanted something for himself. He wanted something real.

He kissed him.

It was meant to be a soft, careful kiss, an offer Zhenya could refuse if he didn’t want it, but Zhenya let out a sharp breath against his lips, almost like a whimper, and moved his hands to hold Sidney by the lapels of his jacket, pulling him in closer.

“Sid?” Zhenya whispered when Sidney broke the kiss, still hovering barely an inch away. His voice sounded so small, distant.

Sidney stroked Zhenya’s cheek. “Can I stay here tonight?” He asked.

His eyes searching his for a moment, Zhenya nodded.

Zhenya’s apartment was small, the bed even smaller, but it didn’t matter to Sidney. Zhenya was in his bed by the time Sidney stripped down to his shirt and briefs. He was lying on his side, his back pressed against the wall, presumably to leave the rest of the bed for Sidney to sleep on. Sidney stared at the space and then at Zhenya.

“Zhenya,” was all he said, fondly exasperated, and Zhenya flushed a little, embarrassed.

“I - I don’t know -,” Zhenya stammered, uncharacteristically shy as Sidney nudged at him to lay flat before climbing on top of him, straddling his hips, and pulling the blankets over his shoulders to cover the both of them. “ _Sid_.”

They were pressed flush against each other, only a few layers of fabric separating their skin. His eyes never leaving Zhenya’s, Sidney touched Zhenya’s face gently, tracing the angles of his face, committing it to memory. The more he touched him, the further the thought of this being the only time he would be able to have him like this drifted away.

“Sid,” Zhenya repeated, this time breathless, and Sidney dipped his head to kiss Zhenya again, before he shifted his hips, slow and deliberate, his cock rubbing against Zhenya’s, making his intentions clear. “Fuck, Sid,” Zhenya panted against his mouth, whining from the back of his throat, his own hips rolling to meet his.

“Shush,” Sidney murmured, slipping his tongue into Zhenya’s willing mouth, kissing him deep and filthy, greedy for it, to bury the sound of his own sighs. The walls here were thin.

They moved against each other like that, nothing but the scratching of the shifting sheets, the groans of the creaking bed, the sound of wet slick kisses hanging in the air. Already close, Sidney pulled away, leaning back to catch his breath.

Zhenya was beautiful under him, looking up at him with dark hooded eyes, flushed cheeks, red teeth-bitten lips. Zhenya’s fingers were hooked onto the band of his briefs, unmoving, like he was waiting.

Sidney let Zhenya drag them down, let Zhenya’s hands run shamelessly over the curve of his ass, down his thick thighs. “Now I see how you can kill people with these,” Zhenya breathed in awe.

“Don’t talk about something like that _now_ ,” Sidney griped, even as he kissed down Zhenya’s neck, trailing his hands down Zhenya’s body, slipped his fingers under the band of Zhenya’s underwear and tugged down. Zhenya’s breath hitched as the wet tip of his cock bumped against Sidney’s stomach, as Sidney pushed his hips down, rubbing himself against the vee of Zhenya’s hip.

Zhenya groaned. “You’re going to kill me too,” he said roughly, his nose bumping against Sidney’s neck as he lined up their cocks, held them together in the loose circle of his fingers. Sidney shivered, covered Zhenya’s mouth with his own before he thrusted harder, faster, until Zhenya gasped, trying to stay quiet as he came, Sidney following him close after.

Sidney panted, his arms shaking from holding himself over Zhenya. Zhenya noticed, pawing at Sidney to lie down beside him. Sidney found himself tucked against Zhenya’s side, his head nestled in the crook of his neck. Zhenya ran his fingers slowly through his hair. It was a foreign feeling, being held like this, being touched like this. 

He wanted to stay so badly.

It was quiet for a long while, so long that Sidney hoped Zhenya had fallen asleep. “Sidney -”

“Zhenya,” Sidney said, hoping he didn’t notice the way his voice broke. He pressed a soft kiss on Zhenya’s neck. “Sleep.”

He didn’t have to wait much longer for Zhenya to fall asleep; Zhenya was already tired and this only wore him out more. He laid there beside him, wide awake, watching Zhenya sleep as he counted the hours.

When the time came, he carefully extracted himself from Zhenya’s arms, put on his clothes, and left.

He doesn’t know if Zhenya knew, if he had a feeling what was going to happen. He won’t lie that it was hard to not tell him, to let Zhenya go on believing that he just left him. Sidney was a liar, but there were things he never lied about. There were things between them that were real, but that wasn’t enough. Sidney did everything he could to protect him, but Zhenya deserved someone who could do that and more, someone who would choose him every time, someone who would stay, no matter what.

Covers were meant to be discarded, picked back up only when needed, but this was the one cover closest to who he was, the one cover he could never quite bury. 

 

-

 

Soon after the incident with Strickler, the CSIS contact he put Sidney in contact with turns up dead, something that happens depressingly often whenever they catch a lead on the burn notice, but unlike all of the other times, they actually catch a break. In an extraordinary stroke of luck, another CSIS contact reaches out to Sidney and tells him that if he can find out who killed their previous contact, the agency will take another look at his burn notice.

After weeks of looking through grainy street camera footage, they manage to find a couple half-decent shots of the guy who killed the CSIS contact. Duper sends them to Flower to try and get an ID and he manages to get a name; unfortunately, it’s a common name, so common they almost think it’s a bad alias or a joke, but they have to work with what they’ve got. Duper prints a list of all the properties in the Miami area with that name listed as the owner and assigns the three of them different sections of the city to cover.

It’s tedious, to say the least.

“Nothing here, Sid,” Zhenya says over his line.

Sidney sighs as he gets into his car. “How many houses is that today?”

“This is my third,” Duper answers.

“What about you, Geno?”

“Five for me,” Zhenya tells him slowly, sounding sort of absent.

Sidney pauses and waits. “Something wrong?”

Zhenya makes a thoughtful noise. It sounds like he’s pacing. “House feels weird. Too empty, not like someone live here.”

Sidney checks the address. “You think that might be the one then?” Duper asks.

“Maybe.”

The house is on the outskirts of the city, in a neighborhood where the houses are a little more secluded from the others. “I don’t like this.”

“Worry so much, Sid,” Zhenya teases. “Is probably noth - oh.”

“‘Oh?’”

Zhenya swears softly. “Think I trip something.”

Sidney’s blood runs cold as Duper groans over his line. “Trip what?”

Zhenya’s line cuts out when there’s a sudden roar. “Fire trap.”

Duper swears as he hangs up to call the cops. For a moment, Sidney is petrified, frozen except for his racing heart, but he forces himself to focus. He thinks of the fastest route to Zhenya’s location before he starts the car and peels away from the curb. “Geno.” Sidney grips his phone tighter, his palms sweating. “Just get yourself out of there. I’m heading over.”

“Fire is too fast - I’m not -”

There’s a sharp burst of static and then nothing. “Geno? Geno?” Sidney whispers, his heartbeat pounding in his ears. “Zhenya?”

 

-

 

The next six hours are a blur. 

The house Zhenya was searching was still in flames by the time Sidney got there, despite the sudden downpour. Duper was closer than Sidney and got there a few minutes earlier than he did. He was talking to the firefighters on the scene.

 _Sid - wait - there was a body but - Sid,_ listen _to me - they haven’t identified it yet, okay? So just -_ , Duper told him, his hands on his shoulders, holding him back, keeping him from going into the smoldering house himself.

He won’t accept it.

He went to Zhenya’s house, went to every one of his safehouses that he knew about, but there was no trace of him. He calls Zhenya’s phone, but it goes straight to voicemail. He calls again and again and again. Duper hasn’t called him. Sidney doesn’t know what to think, doesn’t know if he even wants to call him and ask.

After exhausting every other option, he goes to the last place he can think of.

Everything sounds dull, the rain pounding against the corrugated steel roof, the hollow clang of his footsteps as he walks up the stairs to the loft. If Zhenya isn’t here -

He doesn’t think about it.

He looks at the door first. He looks at the lock. There are faint scratches, new. Zhenya was never much for picking locks, but Sidney’s been trying to get him to learn. Sidney breathes in, then out, and pulls on the door.

It opens.

When he steps in and looks up, Zhenya is leaned back against his kitchen counter, drinking a beer.

Zhenya looks toward the door when he hears it fall shut, coughing and sputtering as he rushes to put down his beer. “Oh my god, Sid,” he says in a loud, dramatic sigh. “You not believe what happened -”

Zhenya’s voice is faint in Sidney’s ears. Sidney walks toward him, his body numb with what might be relief. He can see Zhenya’s lips moving, can even catch some of the words he’s saying - _second booby trap - lost phone - get out at last second_ \- but he feels like he’s moving in a daze, moving through a dream.

By the time he’s standing in front of Zhenya, Zhenya has trailed off from telling his story, his smile fading. “Sid?” He says, worried.

There have been close calls before, but never like this.

Sidney takes a deep, shaky breath. “I thought you -,” he breathes, but he doesn’t care to finish the sentence, just reaches out to touch him, to make sure Zhenya really is in front of him, to make sure this wasn’t the last thing to drive him over the edge.

Zhenya smells faintly of ash and he’s solid, alive under Sidney’s palms, but Sidney still doesn’t feel settled. Zhenya places a hand over his - it feels hot against his clammy skin - and he tilts his chin up with the other. Sidney feels tears burning in the backs of his eyes.

When you become a spy, they tell you about sacrifice, about choosing your country above all. Sidney made his peace with it a long time ago, but the thought of losing Zhenya was something he could never dwell on, something he knew would be too heavy to bear. It was why he tracked Zhenya even after he left, had his contacts keep tabs on him to make sure he was okay, even managed to get a hold of his number, though he could never bring himself to call. Sidney was the one who left Zhenya, but he couldn’t let him go.

“I’m sorry,” Sidney croaks.

Zhenya shakes his head. “It’s not your fa -”

“I should’ve never involved you in this -”

“Sid,” Zhenya says firmly. “You didn’t set the house on fire and you didn’t make me go. I’m want to help you.”

Sidney shakes his head. “It’s not just this, Zhenya. The burn notice - I should’ve told you to leave the moment I saw you. I don’t -”

“Sid -”

“I don’t deserve -”

The rest of his words die against Zhenya’s lips.

The shock of it hits him like a burst of fire. He stays completely still, closing his eyes and relaxing only when Zhenya touches his cheek, tilts his head back to slot their lips together. Sidney clutches his shoulders, his fingers twisting in the fabric of his shirt, not letting go even when Zhenya breaks the kiss.

“Stop think -,” Zhenya lets out a frustrated noise, before he continues in Russian, “Stop thinking you don’t deserve me,” he whispers. Then softer, “Stop thinking I don’t love you anymore.”

Sidney had spent years wondering, in the moments when he could, if he broke Zhenya’s heart the way he broke his own. All this time, he thought it was loyalty that made him come here and stay, that maybe Zhenya thought he had to pay him back for what he did for the rebels. What he did should have been unforgivable. “I left you,” Sidney says in a hoarse whisper.

“You did. And yes, I was angry for a long time,” Zhenya admits. “But I didn’t believe you wanted to.”

Sidney tries to look away. “I didn’t love you enough to stay,” he hisses, pained, angry at himself. Because that was it, wasn’t it? If he really loved him, he would have found a way.

Zhenya is calm, infuriatingly calm, like he knew all along what Sidney was thinking all these years. “This isn’t a one-way street, Sid. Everything you ever did for me was to protect me. You loved me enough to leave,” he says gently. “I loved you enough to follow.”

All the fight in him gone, Sidney feels his heart clench tight, his longing flowing like a flood. Despite everything, Zhenya is still the person who knows him best. “People like me don’t get to have these kinds of things,” Sidney says weakly.

“Another one of your stupid spy rules,” Zhenya mumbles, annoyed, before he kisses him again, slow and thorough, kisses him the way Sidney wanted to kiss him if he stayed, if he chose him all those years ago. He herds Sidney toward the bed, bumping knees until Sidney falls back on the bed, Zhenya following him. For a few moments, Zhenya draws back and looks at him, running his fingers through Sidney’s rain-damp hair. “You’re not leaving this time,” Zhenya decides for him.

Sidney pulls Zhenya’s hand to his lips, pressing a kiss against his palm. He can’t pull away, can’t resist anymore, not with Zhenya this close, not when Zhenya is telling him this. “I won’t,” he promises and he means it.

Zhenya doesn’t forgive him, not with words, but he holds Sidney tight, holds him together, and it’s more than enough.

 

-

 

“Hey G, thanks for the help on that last job,” Duper says cheerfully when he arrives at their table at Carlito’s. “I’ll pay for all the drinks you want tonight. Hell, I’ll even buy you some Big Macs.”

Zhenya looks at him through half-lidded eyes. “Can thank me with payment.”

Duper’s jovial mood is immediately soured while Tanger laughs at him from the other side of the table. “Why do you always charge me when I ask for a favor but never when Sid asks?” He grumbles as he pulls a thick envelope out of pocket and throws it down in front of Zhenya.

“I’m get other things from Sid,” Zhenya answers matter-of-factly as he pockets the money and then takes a sip from his drink. Sidney, feeling his cheeks burn, pointedly does not look at anyone, focusing intently instead on his mozzarella sticks.

“Can’t believe you asked that,” Flower snickers before Duper quickly excuses himself to get a drink from the bar.

“ _Zhenya_ ,” Sidney mumbles with a long drawn out sigh.

“You like,” Zhenya says with a cheeky grin. 

When Duper returns, Sidney gives them the latest update. CSIS is looking into the burn notice, after they proved it to be the work of a shadow organization and managed to capture the leader. Assuming all goes according to procedure, Sidney’s name will finally be cleared and the burn notice will be thrown out.

“So what are you going to do next, Sid?” Duper asks. “I imagine CSIS’s gonna want one of their best agents back in the game.”

A year ago, he would’ve done anything to be a spy again. A year ago, he was alone, working alone, struggling to find purpose in what he did, running from a past he didn’t want to face. Now he has his friends, a team who would never abandon him, has Zhenya, finally. This past year, he’s been able to do good on his own terms, to help people. Soon, there will no longer be a burn notice hanging over his head, no more unknown dangers lurking around him and the people around him.

Sidney looks over at Zhenya, who smiles wide. “I think it’s time to live my life,” he answers with a grin.

He doesn’t need to run anymore.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!


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